


GFDI Dave

by nimsayee



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Broadway Karkat, GOD IM SO SORRY, M/M, Masturbation, Meteorstuck, POV Karkat Vantas, Pining, not sure if i should tag as underage since nothing technically happens, this is just gfdi dave in fic form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28478871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimsayee/pseuds/nimsayee
Summary: Karkat locks himself in an empty room to take care of particular urges that definitely don't have anything to do with Dave Strider.This is based on Broadway Karkat's GFDI Dave, you know exactly what to expect.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	GFDI Dave

**Author's Note:**

> this song got me into homestuck i wish i was joking. i kept looking for a fic with this concept but i didnt find any and decided i had to take one for the team and make it myself. didnt feel like coming up with alien junk headcanons so karkat just pops a boner. enjoy i guess. dont expect this to be good

You sunk to the floor as the door slammed violently behind you. You would’ve winced, but right now you could barely hear anything over the loud shrill of anger pulsing at your ears. Well, that, and Dave snickering at you from the other side of the door. He was saying something about reservation ? saturation ? You didn’t know, and you didn’t give a fuck. The sound was muffled, so it’s not like you could’ve heard what he was saying even if you did care. You could clearly picture it though, the annoyingly nonchalant smirk, and that alone sent your head ringing with rage and your fist crashing against the door.

“Fuck off, Strider!” The shout came out strained – turns out hitting a metallic door with your bare fists was painful ! Wow, who would’ve thought of that? Certainly not you. You had a throbbing hand and a grimace of pain to show for it. 

You heard shuffling from behind the door, and if you listened closely enough you could hear Rose scoff at whatever the fuck Dave just said. Their footsteps echoed down the hallways of the meteor and you were finally alone with your thoughts. Jesus, what’s a guy gotta do to get some fucking alone time on this godforsaken meteor ? You were about to reach for the door handle, check if it was locked, when it suddenly dawned on you. 

_Masturbation._

That was what Dave had said. He thinks you’ve locked yourself in this room to masturbate, and Rose seemed to find the thought somewhat amusing. You clenched your fist, and actively held yourself back from smashing it against cold metal again. _Those fuckers._ And the worst part was that they were right.

Okay, listen, in your defense, you were a teenager stranded on a meteor in fuck-all nowhere cohabitating with a bunch of other teenagers, and if that wasn’t a recipe for disaster you don’t know what is. That didn’t make your current predicament any less embarrassing though. I mean, jacking it to your friend ? alien compatriot ? rival in romance ? Who even knows at this point. You would’ve called it ironic, but you weren’t going to give that motherfucker the satisfaction.

I guess if you had to classify the relationship between Dave Strider and yourself, you’d say it was something vaguely resembling a friendship; tentative, but brimming with potential. You tolerated him. No, actually, you liked spending time with him and you even thought he was funny at times, but you’d never admit that to him. Maybe not to yourself, either. But god, did he annoy you sometimes. And granted, one could say that you and your ridiculously short temper bore that kind of irritation towards everything and everyone. Which was a fair point, but fuck, Strider was on a whole other level of annoying. Sometimes you thought he had a natural gift for making you fucking pissed.

Like when you’d catch him secluded in some corner of the common area muttering some shit to himself – probably his weird human slam poetry that you could never bring yourself to care about, and he’d look so focused and engrossed in whatever he was talking about that his eyebrows would furrow in a somewhat endearing way, and when he would realize you could hear him he’d jolt a little before he eventually gains back his composure and plaster on his usual stoic demeanor.

Or like when he’d be eyeing Terezi from the other side of the room wearing a look that you could only refer to as bedroom eyes, although even saying that word out loud would’ve made you cringe so hard you’d probably throw up. He’d mindlessly throw around flirtatious comments, grinning in that cocky yet restrained way that was so common of him. He probably thought he was being oh so charming and alluring but you could tell from the pink tinge high on his cheeks that he had no idea what he was doing, and that never failed to make your bloodpusher flutter and your stomach knot and god you just wanted to reach out and cup his face just to see him go red and-- yeah okay maybe you were a little bit flushed for him. God fucking damn it. 

Maybe more than just a little bit, seeing as you had to excuse yourself from the common room barely half an hour ago to go take care of, uh, private matters after your thinkpan lingered a bit too long on some salacious joke he had said. Of course, that warranted one of Dave’s signature questionnaires, complete with all the “where are you going?”’s and the “dude I left my pen in the nutrition block – don’t ask -- could you bring it back on your way”, followed by the routinely occurrence that was you wrecking the absolute shit out of your throat yelling at him to just leave you the fuck alone. And following your previous train of thought, your mind obviously directed your inner musings towards obscene-imagery-land where you ended up picturing other ways he could be wrecking the shit out of your throat. That only further fueled your rage, along with your arousal. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic.

Now that you were alone though, you had all the liberty to explore those fantasies. There was no one around to judge you except for yourself, though you had to admit you were pretty good at that. Seriously, if there was a competition for incessant self-scrutinizing you might’ve won it, and that would’ve ironically been the only thing you ever fucking succeeded at. You tried to tune out your inner voice’s scolding -- this soliloquy was getting obnoxiously long at this point, and you got down to business. God, that expression just made you physically cringe.

You undid your belt with a practiced flick and hissed as your hand connected with sensitive skin. Your mind couldn’t help but wander towards Dave Strider, and at this point you were too horny to give a shit. In fact, you could almost see the faint silhouette of the last shit you’ve ever given pirouetting out of the window and landing gracefully in the middle of the furthest ring.

You could also almost see Dave panting above you. You thought of what it would feel to hold him, to kiss him. Would he be pliant, amenable against your lips ? Would he lean into your touch ? Would he allow you to press him flat on his back, laid bare and vulnerable, only for you to see ? You’d trail a line of wet and sloppy kisses down his neck, hook your fingers through the fabric of his boxers, and fuck, you could almost picture the way he’d squirm and whimper and buck into your hand, desperate for your touch. That sent a jolt of electricity straight to your bulge and your pace quickened, threatening to send a plethora of embarrassing noises spilling from your mouth. You brought your hand to your lips and bit, in an attempt to remain quiet. It hurt – your teeth were sharp, but you’d rather die than let anyone hear you like this.

You imagined Dave’s hand touching you instead of yours, eager yet unsure against your bulge and fuck, that was definitely an embarrassing noise. You didn’t care though, not when all you could think of was Dave Strider pinning you against a wall and pressing his knee snug against your crotch and kissing you stupid. He’d nibble at your ear and suck at the skin right above your pulse and normally you would’ve been pissed at yourself for entertaining such a disgustingly pale thought in a clearly concupiscent scenario but right now your strokes were getting uneven and your breath was staggering and your brain was fogging up and all you could think of was Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave–

You realized you forgot to bring a pail right as you came. Fuck. Now you had a fat mess to clean up. A sticky, gooey, pink mess. What kind of bumbling idiot doesn’t bring a bucket to the room they were clearly intending on masturbating in, what the fuck, Karkat? You groaned in frustration and wiped your hand on your shirt. As if your current situation wasn’t already fucked enough, you also think you might’ve accidentally voiced your thoughts earlier and now there was a risk someone heard you moan Strider’s name. God fucking damn it.

You sat still, waiting for your breath to even and for your legs to gain back enough strength to carry you all the way to your room. The last thing you wanted was for someone to find you roaming the meteor’s dark hallways with wobbly legs and suspiciously stained clothes. You’d probably have to wait for everyone to head to their rooms until you could safely crawl out of this goblin hole you’ve made for yourself. 

Which meant you had plenty of time to ponder your feelings for Dave, because apparently you were physically incapable of having a good time and you had to turn every single moment into a fucking crisis. Courtesy of your inner voice, god you hated that guy. 

Normally you would’ve used this previous thought as a smooth transition towards expressing your sentiment on the matter, it would go something like “Yeah I hate myself, but guess who I hate more? Fucking Strider.” But not this time. You didn’t feel like putting up the usual denial charade. You didn’t hate Dave Strider, you were utterly, completely, irredeemably flushed for him. And I guess the thing that pissed you off the most about that was that you couldn’t imagine yourself feeling this way for anyone else. 

Sure, falling for anyone who wasn’t such a stoic prick would’ve certainly been less irritating. But the very nature of flushed feelings made it so you liked him specifically because he was a stoic prick, didn’t they ? As much as all those little quirks of his annoyed you, you couldn’t deny that you loved them. 

You loved every snarky grin, every unnecessary ramble, every ridiculous eyebrow waggle, every excessively convoluted metaphor. God, they were so needlessly complicated he ended up losing track of what he was originally saying. You’d fuss and groan and yell about it, but the truth was, you loved it. The way he’d start gesturing with his hands and his eyes would sparkle as he got into it-- you could see it through his aviator glasses.Trolls had sharper vision than humans; his stupid shades didn't hide anything. Apparently he hadn't realised that yet. It wasn't even a difficult conclusion to reach since he already knew trolls were a more or less nocturnal species. You weren’t going to tell him. Can’t risk him going around alchemizing new, more efficient sunglasses. You liked looking at his eyes.

You could stare at them forever, taking in how light his eyelashes were, how piercing the red of his irises was. Often times, you found yourself wanting to reach out, take his shades off and watch as his eyes widen. You wanted to do many things to him, as seen from your earlier activities, but some things were less physical than others. Some things were more intimate. You wanted his eyes to meet yours after they’d widened, you wanted his gaze to be fond, vulnerable and you wanted him to be okay with that. You wanted him to feel comfortable enough around you and allow himself to set his walls down, let you in. You wanted to hold him, but you also wanted him to hold you, snug against his chest as he whispered comfortingly in your ear. You could almost hear it, his monotonous voice, his tell tale southern drawl; “I love you,” he’d say, or maybe it was “I’m always thinking of you,” or—

Echoing footsteps. Frantic knocking. A clamorous voice. 

“Karkat, are you still in there ? My turntables are inside and I need to use them dude, got some ill beats to deliver, so whatever you’re doing hurry the fuck up.” 

God fucking damn it, Dave.

**Author's Note:**

> could you tell i was projecting super hard onto karkat i love dave so much. wasn't sure wether or not to tag this as underage bc theres no actual intercourse going on but if you think it should be tagged as underage pls tell me. feeling like i just did something illegal even tho im a minor myself lol also wrote part of this in finals week lets hope my grades dont reflect that too much. damn getting into homestuck in 2020 is fucking lonely. oh fuck its 2021 now. if this is the first fic you read in 2021 i apologize.


End file.
